


Blood Red Roses

by theelderfish



Category: The Elder Scrolls - Fandom, The Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-Consensual Kissing, Tagging to avoid making someone uncomfortable or worse, This is now a work of oneshots, i think, nothing violent but Azura is very handsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2020-08-18 23:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelderfish/pseuds/theelderfish
Summary: Ralasa does, inevitably, belong to Azura and Azura alone.A collection of oneshots.





	1. Chapter 1

“You’ve done so well, My champion.” 

Azura is standing so close Ralasa can see the night sky in the soft freckles that dust her nose. Her veil is white; sheer; of silk so delicate that Ralasa can barely feel it whisper over her cheeks as Azura steps closer. 

Azura’s praise is sweet and her voice smoother than honey. Elation sparkles in her eyes, brighter than the hatred that peeled off Dagoth Ur, setting the cave alight while her hand sneaks its way to her cheek. Her voice tastes of liquorice, whispering words of truth and fate like an imperial orchestra.

Ralasa can smell the roses pinned to Azura’s veil, in full glorious bloom. This, Ralasa thinks, would not be a bad way to die, a hand caressing the ruined flesh along her side; warmth surrounding her. It does not matter, not really, that she will see much more of Azura after death.

”But,” Azura tittered, one hand tangling with bloody hair, the other mending the gash down Ralasa’s ribs, “You are still needed in Tamriel, to serve Me and My will. Take My favour.” It is not a question. “Take this thing from the hand of a God.”

Ralasa feels stiff beneath Azura’s soft lips. The goddess bends, awkward, annoyed. She tugs at her hair; Ralasa lifts her head. 

Azura’s tongue savours the flavour of Ralasa’s lips for only a moment, slipping into her mouth eagerly. She pulls them flush together, driving all sense from Ralasa’s mind when her hand slips through the gash in her armour and wonders. Ralasa wiggles against the touch. 

Azura holds Ralasa firmly by the head, thumb stroking a quivering grey ear, fingers tangled within dark red hair.

Eternity passes in a moment, Azura’s smile motherly. She fades, one last caress down Ralasa’s cheek, leaving a ring settled delicately on her finger.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Could I ever,” Azura mused, trailing a hand over Ralasa’s stomach, “make anything more perfect than you?”

The first thing Ralasa had learnt, from the second day she had set foot on Morrowind, was that Azura liked to laugh over the silliest things.

She laughed like the tinkling of bells high overhead, nose scrunching with her smile, too white teeth bared and blinding. She did not, curiously, care to laugh at anything that Ralasa said. It was always a chuckle or a giggle but never a laugh.

The second thing, was Azura had an over fondness for garden puns, that she snuck into conversations at whim. 

Like now, her hand on Ralasa’s hip, ignoring the kwama egg held precariously between the dark elf’s fingers. “You are My perfect blooming rose, Nerevarine.” She tittered, smiling brightly against Ralasa’s shoulder. “Never have My seeds grown to such height, such beauty.”

The final thing, was that Azura’s hands liked to wonder. It wasn’t a problem, Azura only ever visited when she was the equivalent of stoned and half aware, but it did make Ralasa wish she’d stop eating kwama eggs at one in the morning. Azura liked one in the morning, she liked the quiet of cities at the time, the bug song, the likelihood of being alone for a few blessed seconds.

“Could I ever,” Azura mused, trailing a hand over Ralasa’s stomach, “make anything more perfect than you?”

Ralasa leaned forward, shoving the last of the gooey kwama egg down her throat. Her hips were stuck between Azura’s thighs, the goddess straddling her midsection close. Azura laughed into the space between Ralasa’s shoulder blades hands snaking over her torso.

“Stay with Me this night, champion.”

Ralasa rolled her neck, leaving it exposed o sinfully soft lips. It was, inevitably, going to be a long night.


	3. Rebirth, or thereabouts

Once every fifty Tamriel years, Azura raised the soul of Nerevar to try again. It did not always take, the soul found and expelled by the prying feelers of the False Three. But each half a century, Azura would travel through her glowing realm and pluck the soul from the rose bushes, scold it for its temper and try again.

Upon the highest cliff, on the tallest tree, of the most golden bridge, Azura set her hands to flesh and moulded.

A finger here, a torso there. Smaller and muscular, thinner and lighter, till bones moulded and flesh darkened from gold to grey. Until the ears were pointed and the smile full, the eyes dark and bleeding.

Time and again, over and over, she would set her new creation loose on the Mundas, watch it glow brilliant and then twist. Some twisted up in their crises of identity, others in their vanity and some because they didn’t know how to grow upwards.

There was always a twist, a chunk of the inevitable in their flaw. Her sculptures, her Nerevarines, would find cracks inside and among themselves and break. Azura learned, over the many broken shards that fell from Nerevar’s soul, that it was better not to care.

Was there a point in getting attached, when the minor cracks exploded into failure?

A tiny flaw, a challenge for the potential Nerevarine to overcome, as Nerevar had overcome. To keep them tempered, hot, righteous for her fury. Azura plucked Nerevar from the bleeding stem of a rose, almost half a soul now, very nearly useless.

Goddess, they called her. They beseeched her, her own creations, for a flake of perfection. Her ears grew deaf to blind idolisation, gave a hint that they puzzled over and rejected for power. Goddess, they lauded her and yet she could not remake a simple mer.

That failure of hers was unprecedented, and their arrogance grated at her nerves. They called her goddess, all powered, yet demanded favours that they rejected almost immediately.

Sculpted by her hands, slowly, carefully, and always a waste. Now Azura carries not quite half a soul, the scraps left to the Mundas. She taps her fingers against the ivory ledge and scowls.

An idea was forming, one she had never tried. She had sculpted a mer, argonian and Khajiit, man after man after man, with one soul.

Elf, then. Mer, for a mer soul. She turned on her heel.

From the depths of Moonshadow she would find her next ingredient. A soul so forlorn with regret and hatred, that was curved by wit and discipline, charred and halved by centuries of rage.

Two souls, loyal to her cause, combined to one. The souls together, to form something new.

Souls needed careful handling, prodding and protecting. To create a new one, a Daedric stitch to an aedric creation, would take triple her own power. Azura smiled, she had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst. Read the first word of each paragraph!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh so I've had this idea for Ralasa to be a mute ohmes-raht khajiit/lesser daedra for a while and this chapter sort of showcases what she would roughly be like. This version is called Ralasa-Daro and the Dunmer version just Ralasa.

The giant mushrooms sagged under the weight of the rain from the night previous, the air filled with the earthen scent of fungi and old cobweb. The pond swelled with the added water, rivulets filling the it with drowning bugs that left it a swirling mess of frenzied predators.

Ralasa kept her gaze intent on the wall at the other side of the courtyard, fingertips pressed together so tightly that her claws ached. She lifted her lips into a pleasant smile, tail swishing swiftly from side to side. A frog leapt from the pond into her line of sight; she flipped it off. 

“You’re _ignoring_ me.” Azura sighed, fluttering her eyelashes, draping herself across Ralasa’s legs to rest her head against the khajiit’s thigh. 

Ralasa’s ears flicked up, “Ralasa-Daro apologises,” she signed with sore fingers, “This one is agitated.”

“Hmm…” Azura opened one eye with lazy incredulity, propping herself up on one hand, shifting the colours on her arms to calm dawn violet, “Well. Why?”

Her tail flared, fur bristling to stand on end, pouting “Ralasa-Daro is a good khajiit, yes? This one did not anger the dark seducer. Khajiit thinks that she was a great ugly brute for calling this one half-breed.”

“You should have just killed her.”

“Khajiit has vows. Azurah knows this.”

“Fine,” Azura clicked her tongue, bullying her face to rest between Ralasa’s hands, only to have her cheeks squished, “You should have pushed _ever so gently_ off a cliff. I have plenty, use one of them.”

Ralasa bumped their foreheads together, purring, “Azura is doing that on purpose!”

Azura hummed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not happy with this but whateverrrrrr


End file.
